


delicate

by veidtous



Category: Tennis RPF
Genre: Happy, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-23
Updated: 2016-08-23
Packaged: 2018-08-10 11:56:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7843951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veidtous/pseuds/veidtous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The crowd was still screaming his name when he left, hundreds of voices raising to sing his name like a hymn for a God and yet he couldn’t even give them the highest honor in return. But, he does have something he can bring back home and that’s worth something. Life doesn’t always follow the way of fairytales.</p>
            </blockquote>





	delicate

**Author's Note:**

  * For [doubtthestars](https://archiveofourown.org/users/doubtthestars/gifts).



It feels like failure.

The silver medal dangling from his neck as Juan Martín makes his way back to the camp feels like a set of training weights created to keep pulling him down, and down, and down more until he’s lying on his back staring up at an endless blue sky. After everything he did in Rio, after all the people he beat to get to that gold medal match, it still wasn’t enough.

It’s not like he can blame Andy - he put up the good fight and came out on top. It’s not that he’s even that mad at himself either. He did all he could and then some, his legs still pulsing with the ache from hours of running up and down the court. 

As he rounds one of the corners and follows down the lamp-lit walkway, Juan Martín thinks maybe it’s closer to disappointment than failure. He has a medal around his neck that many of the greats don’t have, that didn’t come close, that he was even the one who saw to that. And it might help him sleep after a couple restless hours of mindless television and chocolate temptation. Maybe after that he can swallow the stones his his throat and the rawness in his eyes.

His family is proud of him, he’s proud of himself. It should be enough, and he suspects it will be in time, but for the time being now that all the cameras are gone and the flashing has stopped, he wants to relish in second best. Feeling emotions, good or bad, would always be good for the soul. It reminds Juan Martín that he came back from almost giving up, and to come back like this is worthy of a book and a half and stories told to grandchildren. 

He sighs and rubs the back of his head as he reaches the front door of the camp and hears the buzzer go off, unlocking the glass door and letting him pass through his temporary home. In a couple days the Olympics would be over and it would be right back to training, to hoping, to working hard for that next piece of silverware. The medal thumps against his chest again as he pushes open the door to the stairs and starts marching up them. 

A night alone in the elevator doesn’t seem all that great right now.

Juan Martín doesn’t realize when he reached his floor, only that his mind aimlessly kept him busy with his own buzzing mind and let his body go automatic. He doesn’t notice the body leaning against his door, his eyes too busy tracing the carpet patterns leading down the hall. It’s only when he comes to a stop in front of it to get his key out of his pocket does he notice the extra set of sneakers against burgundy and gold. 

“Nole?” 

The Serbian smiles at him when he finally lifts his head and immediately reaches for the medal around his neck.

“You did it, I knew you’d be able to.” 

Novak says it like Juan Martín has won gold and something inside the Argentinian aches something more. It should be gold - he beat Novak and Rafa among other great contenders. The crowd was still screaming his name when he left, hundreds of voices raising to sing his name like a hymn for a God and yet he couldn’t even give them the highest honor in return. But, he does have something he can bring back home and that’s worth something. Life doesn’t always follow the way of fairytales.

“Gold would have been nice.” 

He doesn’t try to hide the disappointment in his voice, but Novak doesn’t falter. The smile is still evident on his face as he lets go of the medal and wraps a warm hand around Juan Martín’s neck. A favorite spot of theirs from years ago, a spot on their bodies that have seen so much of one another. The up, the down, and the everything in-between and if Juan Martín has to have any company right now there is no one better than Novak. 

“Well, I don’t have any gold on me but,”

“But?”

“But I do have this!”

Novak reaches into his pocket and pulls out a Godiva chocolate bar wrapped in gold and brown paper, shining so sinfully underneath the dim hallway lights that line the camp. Of course. Novak pushes himself off the door finally and moves to the side to let Juan Martín open the door and they both shuffle inside, feeling for a light switch and swinging the door shut to potential prying eyes and nosy cameras. They were still on Olympic grounds, there was bound to be something somewhere. 

As the lights come on Juan Martín makes his way over to the windows and looks out at the flickering lights below for a brief moment before closing the blinds. In a lot of ways he’ll miss the way Rio lights up at night, the way the city seems to come alive with just the ambient sounds of life. Maybe in a year or so in-between tournaments he’ll come back for vacation, and maybe Novak will come with him if he asks.

Juan Martín slides back to the sofa where Nole has already spread himself out, shoes off and underneath the small coffee table as he works to undo the gold wrapper of the chocolate bar. 

“I know what that look means Delpo, stop being so hard on yourself.” 

“I’m not.” 

Or at least he’s not trying to be. But it’s hard - it’s hard seeing a medal he worked so hard to achieve be around the neck of someone else. The fairytale ended, reality came crashing back into focus like a firework all color and thundering clasps of noise. He moves Novak’s legs and puts them back on his lap and watches as the other finishes unwrapping the bar. It’s one of the smaller ones, two pieces of chocolate which means one for the both of them. Thoughtful in even the smallest ways and Juan Martín finds himself smiling finally as he reaches out for the bar. 

“One for you, the winner. And one for me, the loser.” But Novak says it with a smile, breaks the bar, and offers the piece to Juan Martín. 

“You’re not a loser Nole.”

“Well you know what I mean, now come on. Let me wallow with this chocolate I spent seven dollars on.” 

It’s that that makes Juan Martín smile. The little comical throwback between them, something that continues onto the court and then back off again. It’s something that makes the spectators smile, and gives the commentators a good chuckle and that’s what Juan Martín looks forward to the most. To the air, to the fight, to the ability to take the future by the reins and move on ahead once more. 

Which is why he sets his own piece of chocolate down on the table as Novak pops his into his mouth. A look of confusion washes over his companion’s face as Juan Martín leans over, grasps the sides of Novak’s face and brings him in for a kiss. It’s not rushed like the ones they shared when they first arrived in Rio, they aren’t consolation ones after Juan Martín beat him in the first round, and they’re not like the ones filled with joy that Nole would give him after each win. 

It was something specific to this moment and he finds himself smirking when he pulls back and munches on the chocolate he’s stolen from Nole. The other licks his lips then tries to force himself to frown at either the loss of the chocolate or Juan Martín’s lips. Probably both.

“That’s not fair.”

“But I won Nole, so I should get the whole bar, right?” 

Novak laughs and pulls his legs from Juan Martín’s lap in favor of putting his head there. Juan Martín’s hands find his hair, Novak’s scramble for the discarded piece of chocolate and holds it up to his champion’s lips.

**Author's Note:**

> title taken from the song by damien rice
> 
> wowie taking a break from the selective football rpf to write some of this new otp of mine. the olympics opened the door and now at work at lunch i'm watching their old matches together because why not. 
> 
> this is my first time writing them so i'm like ??? with characterization but lawl
> 
> they're both very vocal at one another ok  
> and they're not all just serving grunts
> 
> any comments and kudos are much appreciated! xo


End file.
